of dancing hippo cereal, concussions, and the glory of asami's smile
by Rusty Halos
Summary: It's a normal morning in the Asami/Takaba household...until Akihito goes on a quest for cereal, concusses himself, and somehow ends up getting Asami to admit he actually has feelings. And then Akihito gets a glimpse of Asami smiling, really smiling...and he's done for. He's really done for, because everything changes, and he might just love Asami forever.


**of dancing hippo cereal, concussions, and the glory of asami ryuichi's smile**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything – Rating: T for language/sexual themes

* * *

It starts one day, a day that isn't really special in any way. There is no way to distinguish this particular day from the hundreds of ones before it and the hundreds that come after.

Except that it is the day that Takaba Akihito notices Asami Ryuichi smiling.

They're standing in the penthouse's kitchen, and it's early, so early that dawn is still creeping over Tokyo like a lover, bright and beautiful and golden. Asami is drinking coffee—no milk, no sugar—and Takaba is reaching for his favorite cereal, the one with dancing hippos on the front. The box is on the highest shelf, and Takaba, to his eternal regret, is not the tallest of men. He wonders irritably, still half asleep, how on earth it ended up there. He reaches—going up on his toes, the muscles in his calves tightening, his torso lean and long, his arm extended—and misses. He barely swipes the side, really.

Takaba huffs, ignoring Asami's watchful gaze, a gaze he sometimes swears he can feel like a physical caress, sweeping over his skin like the crackling electric glory of a lightning storm. He measures the distance between floor and polished steel counter with a quick look. Then, he clambers up, bare legs flinching against the cold metal, his movements impish but graceful. He stands up, heels just over the edge, balanced precariously on the narrow strip. Carefully, he edges close to the open cabinet, and finally—_finally_—gets his hands on those dancing hippos and their sugary, sugary goodness.

"Congratulations," Asami says, his voice deep and dry, but with an affection so subtle that it took Takaba actual _years_ to notice.

Takaba snorts, feeling that it is much too early for real words. He bends down to place the cereal box on the counter, blood creeping into his face when he realizes that his ass, clad in only thin pajama bottoms, is now directed straight at Asami's face. He studiously ignores the horribly splotchy red his face must be, and closes the cabinet door, edging back even further on the counter to give it enough space to move.

The steel counter, like everything else in Asami's kitchen, is spotless. It's slick and gleaming and _slippery_.

Takaba is falling before he even realizes what is happening, limbs sprawling every which way and bright eyes nearly bugging out from shock. He hears Asami's shout, the clatter of a chair being carelessly pushed away as a body lunges for him, but it's already too late. Takaba's head hits the floor with an alarmingly loud _thud_, and for a long moment, he sees nothing but bright white light, intense and agonizing. His breathing is loud in his ears, the swoosh of air as it enters his lungs and the subtle swish as it exits.

When he can see again, Asami's face fills his vision. There is an uncharacteristically tense line between his perfect eyebrows, and his dark hair is falling into burning golden eyes, eyes that say _Oh shit_ even when the beautiful heavy shape of his mouth would never deign to utter such common curses.

"As—," Takaba starts, but has to blink rapidly to drive away the sudden explosion of stars.

His head really _hurts_.

"Akihito, you clumsy fool," Asami says, terse. His lips form a tight line.

Takaba doesn't want to talk anymore at the moment, so instead he reaches up to touch that tight line, the pads of his fingers ghosting over with the barest touch. He wonders dimly what the hell he's doing, exactly, but the pain in his skull dulls his better judgment and urges him to press harder, questioning with his skin instead of his voice.

Asami understands—Asami _always_ understands him, sometimes—often—before he understands himself. Asami understands, but he ignores Takaba's question. Instead, he reaches down, looms over Takaba's body, knees on either side of slim hips. One hand slips between Takaba's tender head and the unforgiving floor, feeling gently for something. Takaba winces when he hits a sore spot, and Asami's eyes narrow a fraction.

"You'll live," Asami announces. "But you're going to the doctor's. You might have a concussion."

"That's not what I asked," Takaba says, a little annoyed. Asami had understood. It was obvious. So why wasn't he answering?

"You didn't ask anything," Asami says.

"Don't be difficult," Takaba responds, intrigued despite himself. Asami was, if nothing else, straightforward. "I wanted to know why you look so stressed out. I mean, I just slipped a little, but you look like your favorite anime just got cancelled right after a cliffhanger. Or something."

Asami rolls his eyes. "I don't look like that."

"Are you telling me the great Asami Ryuichi now possesses the power to see his own face?" Takaba says, squinting up at his lover. "Also, you're avoiding the question. Again."

"The great Asami Ryuichi possesses more power than you could imagine, brat," Asami responds. "I'm not avoiding the question. I'm simply not stressed out in the least."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you—,"

"Akihito, I'm not going to spend my morning indulging in your childish prodding. I'm taking you to the doctor's."

"Tell me why you look so upset!"

Asami actually sighs, a sound of pure exasperation. "If I do, will you shut up long enough for me to get you to the clinic in peace?"

Takaba mulls it over for a moment. He hates going to the doctor. But his curiosity, as it always does, wins out.

"Fine," he says. "Now spill."

Asami looks quite irritated, brows furrowed and jaw steely. "I…moved your damn cereal."

Takaba likes to think he's beyond being surprised by the small stuff. Being the lover of Tokyo's premiere crime boss will do that to you. But apparently, he's not quite as worldly as he thought.

"Er…what?" he says, blinking up at Asami. "You…moved my cereal? But…why?"

Asami says nothing, but his gaze narrows into a glare.

"Wait a minute," Takaba says, bristling. "Are you trying to get me to stop eating junk food? Look, I'm going to eat whatever I damn well like—,"

"Akihito," Asami says, as if his patience is being severely tried. "I don't care what brightly colored, disgustingly sugary trash you want to ingest."

"Then why did you move my cereal?" Takaba demands. Nothing is making sense, and not because his skull just made friends with the hard floor with a frightening amount of force.

"I…" Asami is hedging now, Takaba can see it all over his revoltingly perfect features. Asami never hedged.

"Just spit it out!"

"I knew you would climb up onto the counter," Asami said, a grudging undertone to his perfectly even voice. "And the dining table is a great vantage point."

Takaba blinks stupidly for a full twenty seconds before it dawns on him.

"You moved my cereal so you could _perv on my butt_?!"

Asami's face transforms so suddenly it's nearly shocking. His lips curl up into a familiar smirk, and lust makes his eyes flare hot and bright.

"Just surveying what's mine," he says. "You have a beautiful ass, Akihito."

Akihito fights down a blush—damn it, how could he still be capable of _blushing_?

"You," he splutters. "You are—I can't believe you—what the—,"

"And now it's time to get you to the doctor's," Asami says, looking a great deal happier now. He moves to pick Takaba up, but Takaba squirms determinedly out of his grasp.

"Wait just a minute!" he says, heatedly. "You're _lying_ to me!"

"I assure you, the only reason I moved your excuse for a breakfast is to…ah…what was the charming phrase you used? Perv on your butt." One eyebrow wings up, sardonic.

Takaba scoffs. "Oh, please. If that was the whole story, you'd have told me right away. Since when do you hesitate to tell me about your pervert ways?"

The eyebrow slowly settles back down, and a calculating look replaces it.

"What will you do for me if I tell you?" Asami asks.

Takaba has had enough. His head still hurts, the floor is uncomfortable, and Asami is just irritating him because he enjoys it now. For God's sake, he still hasn't even had his daily dose of dancing hippo cereal.

"Stop it, Asami!" he says. "Just tell me already."

"Akihito," Asami purrs, eyes intent. "You know I never do anything for free."

Takaba tries very hard not to pout. "Fine. _Fine_. What do you want me to do, Asami? And I reserve the right to refuse anything you ask."

"You must answer any one question I ask with complete honesty, no matter what it costs you. I can demand this of you at any time. In exchange, I will answer _your_ question with complete honesty."

Takaba ponders this for a minute. "Alright…that sounds fair," he says grudgingly. "But you first. Go on. What the hell is going on here?"

"I miscalculated." Asami says the words starkly, harshly, like dead weight sinking to the bottom of Tokyo Harbor. "I made a mistake, and you got hurt."

There is a world of meaning in those precious few syllables, a world of emotion deep and dark and frighteningly powerful, scarier than bumps in the night and the smell of gunpowder. In the space between those syllables, Takaba's heart beats strong and sure; it beats only for Asami, for the self-recrimination suddenly so obvious in the line of his mouth, the heat of his eyes.

"Asami," Takaba says, quietly. "I slipped. I'm a little clumsy. It's not—,"

"Don't you dare say it's not my fault," Asami suddenly snarls, and Takaba, instinctively, pushes himself back against the floor, away from the anger rolling off his lover like acrid black smoke.

Asami notices, the little flinch that Takaba regrets immediately, and there is something dark creeping into the back of his gaze.

"It is my fault," he continues, lowering his voice to its usual sedate drawl. "I let myself make a decision based on _lust_ instead of logic. That kind of thing is disastrous for a man like me."

"Stop," Takaba says, feeling helpless against the onslaught of Asami's leashed anger, that anger that was turned _inward_. Takaba had no idea how to deal with this. Asami didn't…he simply didn't…he _never_… "That's ridiculous, Asami. Nothing happened. Nothing _happened_."

"That's not the point, little fool," Asami says, but the affection is there again, tired and weary, but certain. "I cannot miscalculate. It is not who I am. I am not a man who miscalculates."

One knuckle brushes against the line of Takaba's cheek, almost tenderly, and for once Takaba understands, without words. He understands this man who pulls on so many strings, who is often cold and cruel and remorseless—merciless.

He understands that he, Takaba Akihito, has caused this man to change, to put sentiment, emotion, before reason. It is a change that has become so fundamental, so intrinsic, that it is reserved not only for those special circumstances like Hong Kong, but creeps into the regular days, when nothing much is happening. Days when the dawn is barely creeping over Tokyo, and Takaba Akihito is reaching for his dancing hippo cereal.

Takaba is speechless for once, nearly blown away by the magnitude, the enormity, of what Asami is saying to him, of what Asami is declaring. And so he responds the only way he knows how.

"Ask me your question now," Takaba says, steadily. "Please, Asami, ask me now."

"And what would you have me ask?" Asami replies, heavily.

"Ask me whether I love you." The words are like a benediction, the only repayment that Takaba can offer, the only thing he can say that will matter.

Asami's entire face shifts, infinitesimally, but Takaba sees the softened angles of his cheekbones and the way his mouth turns up, into something that makes Takaba's breath stall in his lungs and his heart beat painfully against his ribcage, as if it longs to touch the glory of Asami's smile for itself.

Because Asami Ryuichi is smiling down at Takaba Akihito, close lipped and beautiful. It isn't a smirk, or a sneer, or a wild grin of triumph. It's a smile, small and quiet and more sincere than anything Takaba has ever seen.

Takaba thinks, dazed, that he could live forever in that smile, and be happy.

* * *

Later, after they leave the doctor's office, in the sanctity of the backseat of Asami's limousine, Takaba rests his sore head on Asami's shoulder. Their sides are pressed together, close and perfect, and Takaba wants more than anything to be like this for the infinite span of time.

Asami stubs out his cigarette, and looks down at the head of soft blonde hair.

"You know, Akihito," he says, conversationally. "I never _actually_ asked you that question. So be prepared to repay me at any given moment."

* * *

_finis._

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ahh! I wrote this in…about an hour, so please forgive any glaring mistakes. It's also my first time writing Finder fanfiction, so let me know what you think! I was reading one of the specials, and something Akihito said caught my eye—"are you _smiling_?!" And then my mind went crazy and I ran with it and this is the result.

Phew.

Also, I am so tempted to write a sequel where Asami asks the worst possible question at the worst possible time and Takaba is forced to answer because, hello, true love and honor and stuff.


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